Read Online Just the Messenger by Ninette Swann - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ninette Swann
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jealousy never hurt anyone. And she was having the time of her life. After being ignored for all of her twenties, in the span of just a few weeks she had gorgeous men lining up for her. She smiled, thinking back to her first interview with Gene. He’d barely glanced over her before saying, “She’ll do,” to the HR person and ushering her from the room. How little she’d known then. Maybe this secret agent thing would be worth it in the end. If she didn’t get herself killed.
That last thought came just a hair too late. As Marco flagged a taxi, something whizzed past her. A bullet, she realized in shock as more peppered the air.
“Fuck!” Warren shouted. “Quick, you two, get in here!” He held open a cab door and ducked behind it as more shots flew by.
“222 Avenida Dos, Esposola.” Marco recited the words calmly, as if they hadn’t just been out in open gunfire.
“What the hell was that?” Grace asked.
Warren shrugged. “Maybe they’re on to us already?”
“Don’t be so cocky,” Marco said. “The town we’re interested in is not particularly close to here. I highly doubt they’d send people up to shoot at you in Bogota. And if they did hire people to shoot at you, Bell, those people wouldn’t miss. That spat probably had nothing to do with us. Good reminder, though. This isn’t a vacation.”
After that, his mouth sealed into a tight line, and he signaled silence at them. The cabby hadn’t said anything, but he had definitely been listening.
About three and a half hours later, they pulled into a bustling town center and hefted their bags out onto the sidewalk.
“Well,” Warren said, shielding his eyes from the sun, “it’s no Sheraton.”
“Welcome to Colombia,” Marco replied, lugging their stuff to the front steps. “This is the best they can do.” He grunted as he pulled a wheeled suitcase over the stairs, and Grace hurried to open the door for him.
Once inside, they gave their names. A suite with a shared bath and two bedrooms. One for Grace and one for the boys. She sighed in relief. At least she’d have a modicum of privacy.
* * * *
With suspicious eyes, Marco surveyed the small restaurant where they were eating lunch. To their left, a gaggle of women laughed and talked, shooting looks over their shoulders at the pair of ominous men sitting at the bar. On outward appearance, the men seemed to be alone, but Marco knew better. They had thugs surrounding them as protection, stationed alone or in small groups, scattered around the room. The effect was a packed restaurant of random people. The reality was a business deal going on up front with backup ready to take action behind.
Grace was toying with her drink, taking small sips of it from the stirrer straw every now and again. She looked lovely and fresh, even though she hadn’t had time to shower in the hotel after they’d arrived. Her tight jeans and light blue tank top showed off her curvy figure. She’d drawn gazes from almost every male occupant when the three of them had walked in, something that had not escaped the notice of the scantily clad women around that back table. Every once in a while, one would speak too loudly in Spanish and point at Grace, her friends laughing. The messengers cheeks would redden, indicating she understood the language well, but she gave no other sign that she’d heard. Marco felt a surge of pride in her. She was holding up well, given the circumstances. A DSLR camera hung at her hip, over the side of the chair, and she crossed and uncrossed her legs, flashing Marco glimpses of her high-heeled platform sandals.
“I’m going to go talk to those guys.” Warren’s voice broke through Marco’s thoughts.
“What, are you crazy, man?” Marco replied. “We don’t need to invite trouble. It will find us.”
“You worry too much, Marco.” Warren was interrupted by the food arriving, and he paused to inhale deeply and smile his best reporter smile at the server. It worked. She
That last thought came just a hair too late. As Marco flagged a taxi, something whizzed past her. A bullet, she realized in shock as more peppered the air.
“Fuck!” Warren shouted. “Quick, you two, get in here!” He held open a cab door and ducked behind it as more shots flew by.
“222 Avenida Dos, Esposola.” Marco recited the words calmly, as if they hadn’t just been out in open gunfire.
“What the hell was that?” Grace asked.
Warren shrugged. “Maybe they’re on to us already?”
“Don’t be so cocky,” Marco said. “The town we’re interested in is not particularly close to here. I highly doubt they’d send people up to shoot at you in Bogota. And if they did hire people to shoot at you, Bell, those people wouldn’t miss. That spat probably had nothing to do with us. Good reminder, though. This isn’t a vacation.”
After that, his mouth sealed into a tight line, and he signaled silence at them. The cabby hadn’t said anything, but he had definitely been listening.
About three and a half hours later, they pulled into a bustling town center and hefted their bags out onto the sidewalk.
“Well,” Warren said, shielding his eyes from the sun, “it’s no Sheraton.”
“Welcome to Colombia,” Marco replied, lugging their stuff to the front steps. “This is the best they can do.” He grunted as he pulled a wheeled suitcase over the stairs, and Grace hurried to open the door for him.
Once inside, they gave their names. A suite with a shared bath and two bedrooms. One for Grace and one for the boys. She sighed in relief. At least she’d have a modicum of privacy.
* * * *
With suspicious eyes, Marco surveyed the small restaurant where they were eating lunch. To their left, a gaggle of women laughed and talked, shooting looks over their shoulders at the pair of ominous men sitting at the bar. On outward appearance, the men seemed to be alone, but Marco knew better. They had thugs surrounding them as protection, stationed alone or in small groups, scattered around the room. The effect was a packed restaurant of random people. The reality was a business deal going on up front with backup ready to take action behind.
Grace was toying with her drink, taking small sips of it from the stirrer straw every now and again. She looked lovely and fresh, even though she hadn’t had time to shower in the hotel after they’d arrived. Her tight jeans and light blue tank top showed off her curvy figure. She’d drawn gazes from almost every male occupant when the three of them had walked in, something that had not escaped the notice of the scantily clad women around that back table. Every once in a while, one would speak too loudly in Spanish and point at Grace, her friends laughing. The messengers cheeks would redden, indicating she understood the language well, but she gave no other sign that she’d heard. Marco felt a surge of pride in her. She was holding up well, given the circumstances. A DSLR camera hung at her hip, over the side of the chair, and she crossed and uncrossed her legs, flashing Marco glimpses of her high-heeled platform sandals.
“I’m going to go talk to those guys.” Warren’s voice broke through Marco’s thoughts.
“What, are you crazy, man?” Marco replied. “We don’t need to invite trouble. It will find us.”
“You worry too much, Marco.” Warren was interrupted by the food arriving, and he paused to inhale deeply and smile his best reporter smile at the server. It worked. She
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